Harry Potter and the Twist of Fate
by History101
Summary: A.U. Set two weeks after Order of the Phoenix. Even the world's foremost leader of Light can make mistakes and by offering to teach everything he knows to the Boy-Who-Lived, Dumbledore begins to make amends. With Dumbledore choosing to take a more active role in Harry's life sooner, how different will events play out? A Dumbledore, Harry mentor fic. I don't own original rights.
1. Know A Man By The Company He Keeps

A.N. I am fully aware that this kind of idea has been done to death but lately I've been stuck in a Potter mad phase and I can't seem to get rid of it, so this is my method of coping. I've never actually written anything, ever for Harry Potter before and I'm not sure how far I'll be able to take it but I hope to write something decent. That being said, I'm sure there's a lot of people who know the official story a lot better than me. I've always been more interested by the earlier books / movies, so if anyone has any suggestions at any time, please let me know.

This will be an amalgamation of the book and films and I will be making some major alterations to the original story, but that's what the A.U stands for :) I apologise for the long note and thank you to anyone who took the time to read it. Now, on with the story.

* * *

Chapter 1 - You May Know A Man By The Company He Keeps

* * *

It was a decidedly dark night that surrounded Privet Drive as Harry slept fitfully in his bed. His room was in a state of disarray which reflected the state of the Wizarding world at large.

Cornelius Fudge had been practically thrown from his beloved office and the now vacant position of Minister for Magic had seen an abundance of candidates since his 'resignation' a week ago. Even Harry, being somewhat out of touch with the magical world in Privet Drive had been aware of the scandal that surrounded Fudge's last days as Minister. With the, now, undisputed return of Lord Voldemort, people had been quick to deny any support of Fudge even though the man had somehow retained a position at the Ministry.

The main headline of the most recent Daily Prophet that Harry had acquired, though already several days old read:

_WIZENGAMOT MAJORITY SAID TO BACK ALBUS DUMBLEDORE FOR MINISTER._

_Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., D. Wiz., X.J.(sorc.), S. of Mag.Q, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and Headmaster of Hogwarts became the source of many a debate as rumours spread of his possible appointment to office._

_One Ministry official, who wished to remain anonymous says that, 'Dumbledore has been on the front lines of Light magic as long as many of us can remember, and certainly, should he wish to become Minister there would be few vocal oppositions.' However, Dumbledore, in a rare press interview stated the following, 'I have no intention of succeeding Cornelius and I have high hopes that a new Minister will be soon be appointed.'_

_Recent talk of Dumbledore being unfit for leadership seem to have quickly faded with the absence of a strong leader and many are shocked by this resistance to lead the Ministry. It has been noted several times that Dumbledore has refused the position of Minister and even in the face of his denial, many take comfort in this recent development._

_Most noted for his defeat of the Dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945..._

The extensive article continued for several pages and Harry was sure he knew it by heart. It was easy to forget just how important the Headmaster was when Harry was still so confused. He knew, on reflection, that Dumbledore had tried to act in Sirius' best interests and that the man didn't deserve full blame for his beloved godfather's death, but it wasn't so easy to dismiss his anger. Harry had trusted Dumbledore and though the old wizard had explained his reasoning, it had all but destroyed his faith in the man after an entire year of being ignored, of not even been looked at.

However, at this point in time, Harry Potter was tossing violently on his lumpy mattress while his mind wrestled with what had quickly become his most vivid and reoccurring nightmare to date, and considering the sheer amount of nightmares he was cursed with, he didn't make such a statement lightly.

Since his return from Hogwarts only two weeks ago, Harry was sure he'd had less then ten hours of uninterrupted, nightmare free sleep and it had long since begun to show. His skin was sallow and though already slim to start with, he was beginning to appear skeletal with stark, bruise like shadows under his eyes. He made a point never to leave the house unless he could help it and he'd written only once to Ron and Hermione, not because he didn't care, but because he couldn't escape the shadows in his mind. Perhaps, Harry thought, he could keep them safe, keep them out of the curse of never ending danger that seemed to surround him, if he let them drift away.

In his nightmares Harry had watched and was watching Sirius fall through the Veil all the while he was unable to stop it. He'd seen different versions where his friends, not only Sirius died in front of him and he didn't want to see it happen in reality. It was bad enough in his sleep.

Once again, as the nightmare reached its crescendo, Harry jolted awake, breathing heavily as he sat upright in his bed. He barely heard Hedwig chirp in concern from her cage on his desk as he tried to control his ragged breathing. As he did so, he could feel his tension and fear slowly begin to fade away remarkably quickly. When he could eventually hear something other than his pulse thudding in his ears, he heard the melodic sounds of a bird singing. He knew it wasn't Hedwig; Hedwig didn't sing like that. This song was far more emotional and magical than any normal animal could sing and it seemed to even have the ability to soothe Harry's fears which was a remarkable feat in and of itself.

After a few minutes he reached out for his glasses and saw, with the aid of the dim glow from the street lights which permeated through the thin curtains, that Fawkes the phoenix was perched innocently atop his desk beside Hedwig's cage. Blinking in a mix of surprise and confusion, Harry sat up on shaky limbs and watched as the phoenix stopped singing and flew the short distance across to him.

"...Fawkes?" Harry murmured.

The bird regarded him with wide, expressive eyes and Harry couldn't help but give a small, half hearted smile in return. It was only when Fawkes landed softly on his bed that he noticed the piece of parchment attached to the phoenix's leg which he took with shaking hands. He flicked on the light and unrolled the small scroll and the slanted calligraphy was painfully familiar to him.

_Harry,_

_I won't burden you with a repeat of all that I said last term and though I know I more than deserve both your anger and your distrust, I beg you to read this letter._

_As you are no doubt aware, the Wizard world lies at the precipice of chaos and, as you likely may not be aware, I am taking the necessary and unenviable steps in an attempt to circumvent disaster. In this, you have more than proven that you deserve the opportunity to be included._

_If you are agreeable, I shall call at number four Privet Drive to discuss this with you on Friday night at eleven p.m, I will take us both to Hogwarts to explain this in detail to you in a attempt to illustrate my point, afterwards you will return home safely._

_It is a poor consolation for the wrongs I have done you, but now I leave the decision to you, as I should always have done from the beginning. Fawkes will remain with you to await your response._

_Yours,_

_Albus Dumbledore._

It was short and more or less to the point, although what that point actually was, Harry wasn't sure. On closer inspection Harry saw that the writing appeared rushed and it was less elegant than usual but he was too tried to try and over think the issue.

It was now in the early hours of Wednesday morning, he learned by checking the battered clock on his desk and he knew he wouldn't be getting any more sleep for a while. It was also much too early for his Aunt or Uncle to be awake so he couldn't go and ask them for chores to do to take his mind off things, which he'd been doing since his return. He'd long since learned that they didn't like it when he surprised them by cleaning a room to please them, they had to order him to do it otherwise they'd only get angry with him and Harry had enough to worry about with adding a furious Aunt and Uncle to the mix.

So, without further thought Harry threw off the covers and sat at his desk, taking out his quill, ink and paper from his already open and messy school trunk on the floor. As he made to put quill to parchment he froze, realising that he didn't have the slightest idea of what to write. A year ago he would've been overjoyed at hearing from his headmaster in the holidays, now though he wasn't quite sure what to think. He wanted to be kept informed this year, he knew he'd more than earned that right but could he look Dumbledore in the eyes again after he'd practically destroyed the mans' office in a fit of blind rage? Would he feel that same anger again if he saw the Headmaster again so soon? Harry didn't know, but if he wanted to be kept informed, he supposed he'd have to try. He knew he wasn't just angry at Dumbledore but also at himself for being deceived by Voldemort. However, he knew that if Dumbledore hadn't ignored him all year, then he could've asked the man about his dreams and avoided Sirius' death.

It slowly dawned on Harry that he'd been doing the same thing for the last few weeks in attempting to save his friends. He didn't want them getting hurt or worse in trying to help him. Dumbledore had distanced himself from Harry to, in his mind, protect him and Harry was forced to admit that the man had been wrong. It had only made things worse. Maybe he shouldn't be attempting to do the same now.

He wrote a brief affirmation to Dumbledore in the form a simple, emotionless sentence and gave it to Fawkes before he had the chance to change his mind. The Phoenix vanished with one last trill, in a flash of fire which answered Harry's question of how the bird had gained entrance to the room in the absence of an open window.

With nothing else to do, Harry pulled out his school books and settled down to read as much as he could. Hermione would be proud of him.

* * *

When Friday night finally came Harry was nervous to say the least. He'd written to Ron and Hermione about Dumbledore's brief letter and they were just as confused as he was. He spent the last two days in a haze of chores, school work and a lack of sleep and he'd not thought to tell his uncle that Dumbledore was meant to be arriving. So when he heard a sharp knock at the door and a loud; "Who in the blazes is calling at this time of night?!" from Vernon, Harry jumped from his desk chair in his room and ran down the stairs to hear his headmaster speak.

"Good evening, you must be Mr. Dursely, I dare say Harry told you I'd be coming?" Dumbledore said as Vernon eyed him with nothing short of blatant disapproval. His pale blue robes, white beard and long hair epitomising everything that the Dursely's despised in the wizard world. "Judging by your look of stunned belief it seems not. However, let us assume you have invited me into your house, these are dangerous times after all."

"Dangerous times?" Vernon ground out.

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded once and strode gracefully past the larger man, into the house. "Petunia, I presume, Albus Dumbledore, we have corresponded, of course," he said seeing the woman standing in the living room, "And this must be your son, Dudley," he deduced.

Dudley, like his mother seemed to want to get as far away from this man as possible, while he squirmed uneasily in his chair, she breathed deeply and shuffled her feet nervously. Vernon, on the other hand looked about ready to burst with anger and the throbbing vein on his forehead, that Harry was so used to seeing, threatened to blow.

"...Sir?" Harry spoke, leaning against the doorframe at the other end of the room.

"Ah, Harry," Dumbledore turned his attention to him with a much more kindly aura about him. "You need a shave, my friend," he remarked and Harry absentmindedly scrubbed a hand across his chin. Not knowing what to say he thought it best not to say anything at all. He watched as the old wizard sighed, "You are perhaps wary of me," Dumbledore suggested, "Or concerned that I am an imposter?"

"...Erm..."

"If it is the former, it's perfectly understandable, if the latter perhaps I can alleviate your fears by telling you that in your first year at Hogwarts when you saw your family in the Mirror of Erised I told you that I saw myself holding a pair of socks."

Harry only nodded in response as he continued, "First off," Dumbledore said in a business-like tone, helping to alleviate Harry's nervousness. "Is a matter of some urgency that I would like to address before we leave - if you wish it - that being the specifics of Sirius' will. The contents of which are fairly straightforwards in that he left everything to you..."

"His godfather's dead?" Vernon exclaimed rudely.

"Yes," Dumbledore said simply, without turning to look at the man, "The problem, Harry, is the legacy of the Black family house..."

"He gets a house?" Dudley yelled in a manner like his father but Dumbledore paid him no heed.

"...Which could be enchanted to limit it's ownership to pure blooded descendants of the Black linage. If such an enchantment exists then despite Sirius' will, the house will pass to his next living relative Bellatrix Lestrange."

"No!" Harry cried out before he could stop himself.

"Quite," Dumbledore agreed, pulling out his wand from his sleeve, "However, I have a simple test, you see, if you have indeed inherited the house then you have also inherited..." he said with a flick of his wrist, "...Kreacher."

"What the bloody hell is that thing?!" Vernon demanded.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't..." the small, cruel looking house elf shouted after appearing in the middle of the room.

"Give him an order, Harry, if you are his master then he must obey," Dumbledore said over the elf's constant yelling.

"Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't, Kreacher won't..."

"Kreacher, shut up!" Harry screamed. The house elf, though extremely reluctant, squirmed on the floor, clutching his ears and clamping his mouth shut, quickly became silent.

"Well, that makes things very simple, it seems you are the rightful owner of 12 Grimmauld Place and of Kreacher," Dumbledore told Harry.

"Do I...have to keep him with me?" he asked with a grimace.

"No, you don't, might I suggest you send him to work in the Hogwarts kitchens where the other house elves can keep him out of trouble."

"Yeah, Kreacher, I want you to go to Hogwarts and work in the kitchens...and stay there," Harry ordered the elf who nodded with a look of deepest and utmost loathing before disappearing.

"Secondly, there is the matter of Buckbeak, he too is yours now. Hagrid has been caring for him for the last two weeks, but it is up to you what we do..."

"He can stay with Hagrid," Harry interjected quickly, not making eye contact with the old wizard.

Dumbledore lightly bowed his head in acknowledgment, "Now, you will recall my letter..."

"What did you mean?" Harry couldn't help but ask, "Last term you said you would tell me everything...sir..."

"I did," the wizard agreed, "And I will, but to do so I must impose further on your already overtaxed patience. I suggest I apparate us both to my office, if you are agreeable."

"You're taking the boy?" Vernon demanded.

"For a few hours, I expect," Dumbledore nodded, "As you know, the Dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort had returned and as a result, the Wizarding community is in a state of open warfare. Harry, who has been targeted since he was a child is now in even more danger than on the day I left him on your doorstep with the wish that you would raise him as your own. You did not do as I asked," he said, the air in the room becoming colder. "You have never treated Harry as a son, he has known nothing but neglect and cruelty at your hands. The best that can be said is that he has at least escaped the appalling damage you haven inflicted on your own son."

"What?!" Vernon and Petunia yelled but Dumbledore raised a hand for silence and they obeyed without thought.

"The magic I evoked fifteen years ago means that Harry has powerful protection while he can call this house home. However mistreated, unwelcome or miserable, you have grudgingly allowed him house room. This magic will cease the moment that Harry turns seventeen so I ask only that you allow him to return once more before his seventeenth birthday to ensure that this protection continues," he told the rather shell shocked Dursely's.

He then turned to Harry who hadn't moved an inch, "And now, Harry, if you would please take my arm."

Harry walked across to Dumbledore and without another word, he and the older wizard disapparated from Privet Drive, leaving the Dursley's open mouthed and disgusted by such a blatant display of magic.


	2. Never Ruin An Apology With Excuses

Chapter 2 - Never Ruin An Apology With Excuses

* * *

"Are you alright?" Dumbledore asked, looking down at the younger wizard who was kneeling over, breathing heavily.

"...Fine..." Harry nodded after a moment.

"It does take some getting used to," the man noted, "Please sit down," he gestured to the chairs behind his desk.

Harry lowered himself into one of the familiar chairs in the office and looked around to see that all was as it had been before he'd torn up the delicate instruments and historic artefacts. The gentle glow of candle and lamp light set a calming atmosphere in the dim room. Fawkes sat atop his perch and he fluttered over to Harry who stoked his feathers with a smile. Even after everything that had happened, he felt much more at home in Dumbledore's office than he ever had at Privet Drive.

Dumbledore walked around the room and carried his pensive over to the desk and set it down on the surface before sitting in his chair. "I want to ask you...Harry...how are you, truthfully?" he asked.

"S...sir?" Harry blinked and faltered under the headmasters' withering gaze.

"I know...I know how it feels to be torn from those you love most and I understand the desire to lock yourself away. It was cruel that you and Sirius had so little time together..."

"Don't..." Harry muttered, looking away, hiding his burning eyes, "Just...don't."

"Forgive me, but I know from experience that isolationism in these circumstances is not the best idea. I know you've not left your uncle's house since you arrived; locking yourself away in Privet Drive will not help you."

"How do you know? You thought ignoring me for a whole year would help me," Harry couldn't help blurting out.

"I say," Phineas Black snorted from his portrait.

"Phineas," Dumbledore sighed, "You are right, of course, Harry, I had thought you would not be affected as deeply as you were. I thought your friends would more than be able to fill the void, as it were."

"Well, you're wrong, I wanted to ask you about so much...and you wouldn't even look at me. D'you have any idea what that felt like?" Harry muttered. He hadn't meant to let out so much of his anger, but talking about this made it difficult for him. Dumbledore had already admitted his mistakes and it wasn't fair on either of them to drag it all up again, but it wasn't a subject that was swept aside so easily. "I tried doing what you did. I didn't even realise it at first. I thought it be best if Ron and Hermione stayed away. I tried doing what was best for them...what I thought was best for them," Harry said, "I thought it'd be better if they stayed away, especially now...I hardly wrote anything...but I...I couldn't do it...they're my friends...I don't know how you did it."

"That admission makes you, by far a better man than me," Dumbledore told him.

"...That wasn't...I didn't mean...I don't think that."

"Exactly," the man noted sadly, "Exactly...but now, if you will, this is important information that I must share with you."

"Information?"

"Years of painstaking work and theorising which I hope will be of use to you."

"What about...sir?" Harry asked, glad of the change in subject, but still somewhat reluctant to speak.

"About the prophecy. Everything I've learned and everything I've discovered I will tell to you but what I have to show you will take time, I have dozens of memories, each pertaining to one individual - Voldemort, or as he was known then, Tom Riddle."

"Why do I need to know about Voldemort's past?"

"Because to defeat our enemies we must first understand them."

"I don't want to 'understand' him," Harry snapped.

"No, I know, but I do this with the aim of helping you survive."

"Survive...but I thought...the prophecy said...one of us has to kill the other...I'm not strong enough to stop him."

"So you've already decided to die?"

"I..."

"Harry, I believe you are strong enough to defeat him. You've already proven to be a remarkable young man and you have something that he can never have."

"The power he knows not?" Harry quoted. "But I don't have any special power."

"Yes, you do, there is a power that he has never, and will never understand and that is love."

"...What?"

"I want you to understand this first, it is essential, Voldemort has destroyed his soul and been seduced by the Dark Arts, he is no longer human. He cannot love."

"But I..."

"Now you, Harry, have already noted that you share many of his prized qualities including Parseltongue, which is a gift any Death Eater would kill for. You have seen the power of Dark magic and never been tempted by it or by him."

"Of course I haven't..."

"Voldemort himself marked you as his equal, and though you have an insight into his mind and his powers you remain true to yourself. If he'd never heard the prophecy would it have been fulfilled? No, it wouldn't. You think every prophecy in the Hall of Prophecy has been fulfilled."

"But you said..."

"Harry, Voldemort created his own worst enemy just as tyrants everywhere do. Have you any idea how much tyrants fear the people they oppress? Always he was wary of the one who would challenge him and the instant he heard the prophecy he acted thus giving you the means to finish him. If he'd never murdered your father would he have imparted in you such a desire for revenge? If he'd not forced your mother to die for you would he have given you such an impenetrable magical protection stronger than anything I could have given you? It protects you not only physically, but emotionally - even as a child you were never tempted by power nor by him..."

"Because he killed my parents! He's killed hundreds of people for no reason..."

"You are protected, in short, by your ability to love, which after everything you've been through is nothing short of extraordinary."

"So...all the prophecy meant...was love?"

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded, falling silent to allow Harry time to think.

After a few minutes, Dumbledore stood and moved to a delicate looking stand filled with small crystal and glass phials, each with hand written labels. He selected several of them in his pale fingers and walked back to his desk, "If you're ready, Harry, I'd like to begin," he said kindly. When Harry nodded, Dumbledore held out one of the phials to him and gestured to the pensive. "This phial contains a most particular memory of the day I first met Tom Riddle," he told Harry, "I'd like you to see it, if you would."

Harry poured the liquid-like memory into the pensive and watched as shadows and figures began to form around him.

* * *

A rainy London street emerged from the dark shadows of the memory with a large imposing building whose signage declared it to be an orphanage. Harry alighted on a younger-ish looking version of Dumbledore who he followed into the building. The dingy atmosphere wasn't lost on him as he watched the Dumbledore wall briskly down the corridor with a middle aged woman walking beside him.

"There have been incidents with the other children, nasty things..." the woman told him before rapping scrapyard on the door, "Tom, you have a visitor," she said, letting Dumbledore into the room.

Tom Riddle was a small boy for his age and he was confident in his mannerisms as he spoke to the older wizard. "Prove it," he ordered after Dumbledore told him that he too was 'different'. After wandlessly and silently setting the battered wardrobe on fire Dumbledore looked Tom in the eye.

"I think there's something in your wardrobe trying to get out, Tom," he said sternly to the boy who walked over to it and opened the doors. "Thievery is not tolerated at Hogwarts," the professor told him while Tom laid out the contents of an old tin box on his bed. They were small, inconsequential objects, worth very little monetary value.

"I can speak to snakes too," the boy said as Dumbledore went to leave, "They find me... whisper things...is that normal for someone like me?" he asked before the memory faded away.

* * *

After seeing the vivid memory of a young Tom Riddle, who was already so different and distant from other people, Harry couldn't help but ask, "Did you know, sir...then?"

"Did I know I'd just met the most dangerous dark wizard of our time? No...if I had I..." Dumbledore trailed off. "I'm sure you noticed yet another similarity between yourself and young Tom, that being the complete lack of affection and willing parental figures afforded to him and to you as children. That orphanage was just as melancholy as your life at the Dursley's and even at age eleven you were both very different. Tom, as I'm sure you noticed, had no difficulty in accepting his abilities and had no qualms about using them in acts of cruelty on the other children. Hagrid informed me that it was much more difficult for you to accept the same truths even though you had proof. No, I'm afraid that his delusions of grandeur began long before he walked through the gates of Hogwarts."

"Then...why did you let him come here...sir?"

"Tom Riddle was not the first troubled child to come here and he certainly wasn't the last. Is it right to deny an education simply because his young ideals didn't suit my own? Of course not. You know as well as anyone that ideals fester when left alone, I thought that over time, he would learn the error of his ways."

"But he didn't."

"No, he did not," Dumbledore sighed heavily, looking ever one of his years and more. "But it is not for me to judge who should and shouldn't be given the right to better themselves and certainly, to the vast majority, he quickly became the most trusted and prized student in the school."

"To the vast majority?" Harry repeated, "But...the...in the diary...he said that you never trusted him as much as the other teachers did."

"I kept a close eye on him, yes, but as you have already learned, I am not omniscient. Another important fact I hope you noted about the memory, was his habit of collecting trophies, trophies stolen from other children as memories of his bullying behaviour. Believe me when I say that this will soon become apparent to you. Now, I have another memory, this one courtesy of Bob Ogden."

"Who's Bob Ogden?"

"He was employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement some time ago and has long since passed but not before I found him and convinced him to divulge this memory."

"Sir...I don't understand why..."

"Harry, please, I've spent many years immersed in these memories and their value cannot be underestimated. I've already admitted that I should have brought this to your attention sooner but I must ask you not to dismiss any of this," Dumbledore said almost pleadingly and Harry let out a deep breath before taking the second phial from him.

* * *

Now, Harry saw a small isolated shack, barely fit for habitation, it certainly wasn't weather proof and it was hidden amongst the trees. He watched a man dressed oddly in a mix of mismatching clothes that wizards tended to choose when attempting to be inconspicuous among Muggles. The man slowly approached the 'house' and after being warned away by an unkept looking pale man he frowned in confusion.

"I'm afraid I don't understand you," the man said and Harry couldn't help but frown. To him it had seemed perfectly clear. Then he saw the small snake on the floor, it was then he realised that the man was speaking in Parseltongue and it was why Harry could understand him.

The man dressed strangely was Bob Ogden, Harry heard him introduce himself to another, older man who was just as unwelcoming as the younger who'd quickly attacked Ogden with a hex.

Inside the house a young woman, who was perhaps the most defeated-looking that Harry had ever seen was flittering about nervously cleaning pans and scrubbing the floor, though her efforts were clearly non effect one in such a hovel.

"Mr Gaunt, you son Morfin broke a wizard law," Ogden said later but this was met with contempt and disdain by both father and son. He made to hand the older man a rolled up piece of parchment, "This is his summons to the Ministry for a hearing on his attack on the Muggle..."

"Summons?! Summons?! Who do you think you are summoning my son anywhere?!" Mr Gaunt exclaimed. "See this? Know what this is?!" he yelled, showing the ring on his finger, "Centuries it's been in our family, pure bloods all the way! And this," he continued, storming over to his daughter and clutching the locket around her neck. He forced her upright with such strength that the poor girl looked like she was choking, "Salazar Slytherin's! We're his last living descendants! Don't you go talking down to us, you're probably just other Mudblood..."

"Mr Gaunt, neither your ancestors nor my own have anything to do with..."

"What an eyesore..." a young woman's voice came from outside, "Tom...is that a snake nailed to the door?"

"My god, you're right, don't look at it Celia, darling..." a man said.

"_Darling_," Morfin muttered in Parseltongue to his sister, "_He called her 'darling', he doesn't want you_."

"_What_?" Mr Gaunt demanded.

"_She likes that Muggle what rides by_," Morfin told his father, "_But I hexed him good, he wasn't so pretty looking with hives all over his face, was he_?" he laughed.

"Excuse me?" Ogden frowned, unable to understand them.

"_My daughter, the last descendant of Salazar Slytherin fawning after a Muggle! You filthy little squib! You worthless blood traitor_!" the man cried, enraged, he tightened his hands around the girl's throat.

"No!" Ogden cried, pointing his wand and forcing Mr Gaunt away from his daughter, the girl's screams echoing as Harry was forced out of the pensive.

* * *

"Sir?" Harry questioned, raising his head, "I don't...who were they?"

"The man you saw, the father was Marvolo Gaunt..."

"Marvolo? Was he..."

"Yes, he was Voldemort's grandfather. He and his children, Morfin and Merope were the last of the Gaunts, an ancient family noted for their instability and violence. Their family gold was squandered long before Marvolo was born leaving him to live in squalor with arrogance and pride, he treasured his few remaining heirlooms just as much as his son and considerably more than his daughter."

"So...was Merope...does that mean...she was Voldemort's mother?"

"She was, and I'm sure you heard his father mentioned by Morfin..."

"...The Muggle he attacked?"

"Correct. That was Tom Riddle senior with whom Merope Gaunt was deeply enamoured."

"And...they got married?" Harry said, incredulously.

"She was a witch, Harry, I don't believe her abilities appeared to their best advantage when she was being terrorised by her father. Once he and brother were sent to Azkaban she was able to escape the miserable life she'd lead for almost two decades. I am inclined to believe she used a love potion to secure the affections of Tom Riddle, it wouldn't have been difficult," Dumbledore said. "It was quite the scandal when the squire's son eloped with the tramp's daughter and from I was able to discover, on Marvolo's return he learned of her actions and he never mentioned her again."

"But...Voldemort was raised in that orphanage, so...she died."

"Correct, from here it is conjecture only, but within a few moths of their marriage, Tom Riddle senior was found claiming that he had been 'hoodwinked' and 'taken in'. What I assume is that Merope could no longer bear enslaving him by magical means once she became pregnant, she was deeply in love with her husband and so believed he was with her. Perhaps she thought that he would stay for her child's sake at least."

"And he didn't?"

"No, he left her and never bothered to learn what became of his son."

"How did Merope die?"

"After she was abandoned by her husband she became deeply depressed and she lived her remaining months on the streets of London. From what I gather she never used magic again, perhaps her depression sapped her of her strength. One of her last acts was to sell Slytherin's locket for a pittance to Caractacus Burke of Borgin and Burkes. After giving birth to her son at the orphanage she died, leaving only one wish that was to name him Tom Marvolo Riddle. Although she chose death over a son who needed her.."

"She...she wouldn't stay alive even for her son..."

"She had not your mother's courage, Harry, we mustn't judge her too harshly, she was greatly weakened by long suffering," Dumbledore said, "Or is it that you feel pity for Lord Voldemort?"

"What?! No!" Harry cried, "...Maybe for Merope...but not him."

"Merope had a difficult life, yes," Dumbledore nodded, "But so did Tom Riddle; abandoned by his parents, alone in a world that didn't understand him..."

"He doesn't deserve pity."

"I pity the child he once once. He has maimed his soul beyond recognition and he feels nothing when he kills, that is why I pity him."

"That's..." Harry began but thought better of it for fear of insulting the headmaster.

"Ridiculous?" Dumbledore smiled, "Perhaps, but killing is a dreadful thing, Harry, it tears the soul to pieces. The guilt alone destroys us but to be able to be so complacent..."

"...Sir?"

"...Well, Harry, I think that's enough for one night, it is rather late after all, we can continue tomorrow at the same time, if you're agreeable."

"Erm...how long are you going to show me...this?"

"For the next two nights and if we're very lucky the night after that," Dumbledore said, "I'm telling you this now, Harry, because for the next few weeks I might not have the time to do so."

"Why...sir?"

"Because I will be...traveling...for want of a better term."

"...Oh...travelling where?" Harry asked and many of the portraits exclaimed at his 'impertinence.'

"I expect you'll know soon enough," the old wizard sighed, "You should also know that Molly and Arthur Weasely have made it plain to me that they wish you to spend the majority of the holiday at the Burrow. However, the bloods wards still withstanding at your Aunts' house are stronger than any defence I could cast on the Burrow, but I have been making it as impenetrable as I can. You understand of course, that I am very busy, but it shouldn't take much longer."

"So...I can go?"

"I'd rather you didn't, not yet, not until I've had time to properly finish and test the wards. All I ask is three days, I leave in three days. Each night until then I will teach you all I can and I will escort you there myself."

Harry nodded, not wanting to put the Weasely's in danger because he was impatient. "Thank you," Dumbledore said.

Harry wasn't sure when exactly, but he felt more at ease in Dumbledore's presence now than when he'd first been brought to the office a few hours ago. Maybe it was because the man had apologised and done what many people tended to shy away from; admitting their mistakes so candidly. "Now I suggest I return you to your uncle's house," Dumbledore remarked, standing up and glancing at his pocket watch hidden in his robes, "The rest of your night, or rather your early morning, will, I hope be more more peaceable than mine."

"Sir?"

"I have over thirty letters to answer before a six o'clock meeting at the Wizengamot," Dumbledore said.

"...Do I..." Harry began, "Do I...have to go back?"

"I'm sorry, but..."

"I know, I get it about the blood wards. I do. I just...I haven't been sleeping...I don't have anything to do at night because I'll just end up waking everyone up. Can I just stay here, just for a while?"

"...I'm not sure that allowing you to wander the castle..." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

"Well...I can stay in here, I'll read a book...or two, or ten, I just...please. They won't even notice I'm not there, they're probably sleeping anyway, it's not like they worry about me."

Dumbledore sighed and looked away, his guilt at sending Harry to live with cold, unfeeling relatives for most of his life never seemed to give him respite. He knew that Harry wasn't intending to twist the knife of guilt, but there it was.

"I don't for one minute imagine my books can be considered interesting for sixteen year olds," he warned the boy.

"Dumbledore you can't be considering..." one of the indignant portraits shook his head incredulously, but his comment went largely ignored.

"...If I'll just be in the way, then..." Harry said heavily. He didn't want to burden the man who already had enough responsibility in the wizard world as it was without adding watching over him because he didn't want to go 'home'.

"No, Harry, you'll not be 'in the way', I don't wish for you to hesitate in asking me for something. But neither do I want you to feel as though you should be wasting your time here with an old man," the old wizard gave a small smile.

"You still look the same to me, sir," Harry couldn't help but say.

"Just like your mother, you're unfailingly kind, a trait people never fail to undervalue, I'm afraid," Dumbledore replied, "...If you wish, you may stay," he added after a moment. "Although, may I suggest that you use the sofa just behind us," he said, looking back behind his desk to the alcove, "It's much more comfortable."


	3. Youth is a Blunder, Manhood a Struggle,

Chapter 3 - Youth is a Blunder, Manhood a Struggle, Old Age a Regret.

* * *

Severus Snape was deep in 'enemy' territory watching Bellatrix Lestrange slither around the room, hissing at him with a deranged grin on her face.

"Make the Unbreakable Vow," she taunted him.

"Yes, yes," Narcissa spoke in relief, "The Vow, you must, Severus, you are Draco's favourite teacher, Lucius trusts you, the Dark Lord trusts you. My son...my son..." she wept.

"Or are you all talk?" Bellatrix chortled.

"Take out your wand," he sneered, having been left with no choice. He wouldn't allow years of work to be wasted but he had little confidence that he or anyone else in the room actually had the skill necessary to defeat Albus Dumbledore. Nevertheless, he took the outstretched hand of Narcissa before Bellatrix spoke.

"Will you, Severus, watch over Draco as he attempts to fulfil the Dark Lord's wishes?"

"I will," he answered, watching as the red flames shot from Bellatrix' wand and twined itself around their clasped hands.

"And will you, to the best of your ability, protect him from harm?"

"I will."

"And...should it prove necessary...will you carry out the deed that the Dark Lord has ordered Draco to perform?"

"I will," Snape said, his heart heavy as Bellatrix smirked.

* * *

Meanwhile, Harry sat with his feet up on the antique sofa in the bowels of the Headmaster's office, reading a large tome about Occlumency. He already had a pile of books he'd discarded on a table, all of which he simple hadn't been able to read either because they were in different languages, such as Ancient Runes or Latin, or because he simply didn't understand the terms used in them. He thought that, even though his scar hadn't been hurting, or giving him any more visions lately, that it was better to be safe than sorry. Snape hadn't gone far in the way of teaching him much in the way of protecting his mind and he didn't have access to magic books at Privet Drive, it was also proving to be a good distraction from thinking too much about Sirius.

However, just as it had in his last school year it was proving to be an elusive subject, especially when the book was intended for someone who mad more than mastered the basics and was occupied mainly on very obscure theories of the subject. So, like the last few books he'd tried, Harry set this one aside as well with a sigh of frustration. It wasn't that he was complaining about being bored, after all, he was the one who'd insisted on staying and Dumbledore had warned him, but it was still much better than going back to his uncle's house. He still couldn't ignore the fact that he was perhaps asking too much of the headmaster and the guilt kept gnawing at him as he picked up another book. He had no clear notion of just how much time had passed but he was choosing to remain as quiet as possible so's not to disturb the headmaster.

"Bored yet, Harry?" Harry heard the familiar voice of the headmaster and he snapped his eyes from the book he was flicking through, up to meet the man's gaze.

"No, no, I'm erm, fine," Harry answered quickly, "I'm reading about...err..." he trailed off, closing the book and glancing down at the title on the binding with a frown. Dumbledore held out his hand and the book floated over to him.

"Wizarding law of the sixteenth century in Latin?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, "I wasn't aware that you were interested in archaic law, or that you were fluent in Latin."

"Erm...I..." Harry stammered.

"If you insist on continuing to fein interest perhaps I can be of some assistance," the wizard said, clearly amused, "There is a rather useful spell, it's not very well known, that can make almost any language legible whether or not a person is actually literate in any one language. Naturally, it would encourage a certain dependency if it was well known."

"Is that why you have books in so many languages?"

"No, I can read them without it."

"Oh."

"Fortunately for you, it's not a difficult spell to learn," Dumbledore said and took out his wand from his sleeve. He opened the book, gave it to Harry and tapped it once with his wand before saying, "_Lingua universali_."

Before Harry's eyes the unrecognisable, archaic words merged into the modern day, English counterparts, "This would've been useful earlier," he muttered.

"People would never take the time to learn a new language if I taught it widely, though it does have it's limitations. It doesn't last very long and if used repeatedly for extended periods of time you will begin to see significant mistranslations, and it certainly doesn't mean you can verbally speak the language."

"It's still a really useful spell," Harry said, marvelling at the words on the pages.

"Yes, and it's very difficult to prove its use," Dumbledore remarked, "...It was widely believed my brother was illiterate for years until I discovered he was using it as a child," he added.

"...Brother?" Harry repeated curiously, "I didn't...I mean...I didn't know you had a brother, sir."

"Yes, oh yes," Dumbledore nodded, "I have a brother," he said in a melancholy tone, "A rough, unlettered, and infinitely more admirable brother," he added quietly, so quietly, Harry wasn't sure he was meant to hear it.

"Sir?" he spoke when the professor seemed to lose himself in thought.

Dumbledore blinked and glanced at Harry with a world weakly look which swiftly vanished. With a smile he turned and walked back to sit at his desk and continued with his work. Harry wasn't sure whether or not he should follow the man or remain out of the way, he certainly saw that Dumbledore didn't intend to speak further about his brother. He thought it was strange that, for such a famous wizard, little was generally known about his family, but he supposed that he'd never really asked before so how would he know?

"I can hear you thinking, Harry," Dumbledore said from his desk a few minutes later.

Harry stood nervously from the sofa and walked into the main room, "...Sir...I...I erm, read about Fudge and the Wizengamot," he said, deciding it best not to ask about the man's brother.

"Hmm," he hummed, "And you were wondering, no doubt, about whether or I not I plan on becoming the new Minister," Dumbledore replied shrewdly.

"Well...it said that you don't..."

"No, I don't, nor will I ever do so. The Council knows this but it's not the first time that the idea has circulated," Dumbledore shook his head, setting aside the letter he'd just read and took up a new piece of blank parchment to write a reply.

"Why don't you..."

"I'm better off at Hogwarts, Harry," the old wizard said simply.

"But people say you're the only wizard Voldemort ever feared..."

"Not so, have you already forgotten what I've told you? He fears you - his equal, just as much if not more so than he fears me. His thoughts have centred on your destruction since you were a child."

"That's different," Harry protested.

"In what way?"

"It...it just is."

"Forgive me, but that isn't the most persuasive of arguments," Dumbledore said, looking up from his writing for a moment.

Though he was reluctant to pursue a discussion with the man, Harry had more questions and he'd never get answers if he didn't ask - no one else knew nearly as much about Voldemort as Dumbledore did. He didn't appreciate not knowing everything about his own situation but the wizard was clearly making a start on rectifying that. "You have another question?" Dumbledore prompted him as he dipped the white feathered quill in a silver inkwell and continued his work.

"The - connection - between Voldemort and me, you said that you knew it would happen," Harry began.

"I did," he agreed, reluctantly.

"...How did you know?"

At this, Dumbledore instantly stopped writing and looked up, "Harry, I..." he said in a tone that screamed of his reticence to answer.

"Why didn't you tell me last term?"

"Impertinent little..." one of the portraits grumbled in the background while others muttered in agreement but all murmurings ceased when Dumbledore let out a sigh.

"I wanted you to enjoy your childhood..." the wizard said heavily, setting down his quill, putting his elbows on the desk and appraising Harry over steepled fingers.

"I've never had an 'enjoyable' childhood," Harry countered, confused as to where the conversation was going.

"No, and it's proof of yet another injustice I've done you, but wait just a while longer. I know that you want, and deserve, to be kept informed as to the war and I won't repeat my mistakes of last year. I've had many a complaint about this, as you can imagine but as much as I'd like to, I can't keep you out of this war forever."

"...But that doesn't answer my question."

"I have every intention of telling you and I hope that it all become clear to you if not in the next few days, then at least before the new term begins."

"But why can't you..."

"You've already waited several weeks to hear the answer, will a few more days make any difference?"

"Don't I have a right to know?"

"Certainly you do, and you will, all I ask is that you are patient."

"But I..." Harry broke off with a sigh. Clearly he wasn't going to get anywhere with this tonight and it was getting a little frustrating. "...I...think I should go back now," he said and Dumbledore nodded sadly before standing up.

"Ron and Hermione, are they going to be 'included' too? Can I tell them about...this?"

"Your friends have proven to be more than trustworthy, but I would advise you not to send this information in a letter. If it became public about how much I know of Lord Voldemort's past the consequences could be dire. No, Harry, I don't see why you cannot discuss this with your friends, but I must ask that you wait until I take you to the Burrow to do so," Dumbledore explained and Harry couldn't find fault with it. So, with a small nod, he grasped the man's arm and instantly found himself back in his bedroom, alone.

Harry flopped down across his bed with a sigh of frustration. It had been very difficult to know just how to act around the headmaster but he couldn't deny he wanted to trust the man again. It wouldn't be easy though. The two conflicting arguments; that Dumbledore had made a mistake inadvertently causing Sirius' death, and that the man had admitted to his flaws and was attempting to make up for them, wouldn't stop swirling in his mind. He'd loved Sirius and he didn't think he'd ever get over the loss, but he couldn't stand the thought that he'd lose someone else simply because they cared about him. Sirius was dead because he'd been trying to protect Harry, so who's to say it wouldn't happen again?

It wasn't until hours later when he recalled Hermione telling him it wasn't possible to apparate within Hogwarts that he wondered just how the headmaster had done it.

* * *

Hours later, shortly before dawn Snape was sat with Dumbledore in the headmaster's office. The pile of letters had been answered and the old wizard eagerly awaited news.

"Well, Severus," Dumbledore prompted.

"The Dark Lord is restless, he sees you as the only thing between himself and the boy."

"And so he plans to make young Draco my murderer."

"He does, and Naricissa plans to have me carry out the deed should he fail," Snape said, "I had no choice but to make the Vow."

"I know and I don't disapprove, you played your part well as you always have."

"And it's likely to get you killed."

"Fear not, Severus, I have no intention of becoming a martyr for the greater good."

"He has given Malfoy until the end of the next school year to complete the task. Should the boy fail, I have no doubt that he, his father and his mother will be butchered by the Dark Lord. Should I fail, I imagine the punishment will be worse, and should anyone suspect..."

"They won't," Dumbledore shook his head, "I have every faith in your abilities. However...we must discuss every possibility..."

"I will not be party to your murder!"

"If you do not then the Vow will kill you."

"I made an Unbreakable Vow with you long before I agreed to Narcissa's."

"That doesn't change things," the older wizard stated coldly.

"You cannot one minute refuse to martyr yourself and expect me to..."

"I expect you to listen to me."

"I've done nothing but listen to you for fifteen years," Snape ground out.

"Yes, you have, and one day people will know just how much they are indebted to you."

"I don't require your pity," Snape hissed.

"It's not pity. You agreed to this and you've done everything you said you would, but it's not fair it is, Severus?"

"Nothing ever is."

"No," Dumbledore agreed, "But what you do is essential to us winning this war, and for keeping Harry alive..."

"Your precious golden boy," Snape said.

"Lily's son," the old man corrected which quietened the younger wizard, "Is alive thanks to you. I hope he'll know it one day, but until then..."

"The Horcruxes, what of them? You said you believed he had more than one," Snape replied after a moment.

"I may be close to finding another."

"How many could one man make?"

"If I'm right...this makes three so far."

"Three?"

"The diary, another which I hope to find soon, and...Harry."

"What?!"

"There's a reason Harry can speak to snakes, there's a reason he can see into Voldemort's mind..."

"What are you saying?"

"When Lily Potter cast herself between Voldemort and Harry the curse rebounded and latched onto only living thing it could find. A part of him lives in Harry."

"So...when the time comes...the boy must die? You've kept him alive so he can die at the proper moment," Snape said in disgust, "He must die."

"Yes, and Voldemort must be the one to do it," Dumbledore sighed, "But I believe...that Harry will survive."

"...You're mad," the potions master shook his head.

"Perhaps," the old wizard said, "Perhaps I'm foolish, I never wanted this. I want him to live..."

"So that he can die by the Dark Lord's hand!"

"So that he can then defeat Voldemort afterward. Harry is the horcrux he never meant to make and before he can defeat him, that horcrux must be destroyed."

"What proof have you that the boy would survive?"

"Severus, since I learned of the first horcrux I've spent my every waking moment trying to find proof. I've learned more about dark magic these last few years than I care to admit..."

"The boy will not survive because you wish it out of guilt!"

"You think I don't know that?" Dumbledore growled, "You think I wanted this? What would you have me do?"

"Defeat the Dark Lord yourself! For the 'greatest wizard of modern times' you do little to earn such a title!" Snape said in anger.

"I know, but you know as well as I that I can't. If Voldemort hadn't taken the prophecy as true then I could have, but Harry is marked as the only one who can now. This is Voldemort's doing, not mine. Severus, I believe Harry will survive, not out of guilt, but because I've seen what he's capable of and because of all I've learned. That will have to be good enough for you...and for me."

"Why are you telling this to me now?"

"You deserve the truth."

"And the boy?"

"Harry will learn about horcruxes, I will teach him," Dumbledore said, "He will have a choice; spend his time before school at the Weasely's or travel with me to find the horcrux."

"And you think to him that will be a 'choice'?"

"I'm doing all I can to see that he survives," Dumbledore rested his head in his hands as he sat at his desk, "...As you are. But I can't lock him away forever."

Snape let out a frustrated breath not knowing what else to say. He didn't want to think that all his work for fifteen years had been for nothing and he did trust the man before him but was there a line he'd crossed in allowing the son of Lily, his beloved Lily to be raised like a lamb to the slaughter. Of course, he'd had little choice, for he was right. What was he to do? What were any of them to do but play their part?

* * *

A.N. In the last film I remember Aberforth asking Harry if Dumbledore had ever mentioned him and in the Goblet of Fire book, Dumbledore said that Aberforth performed inappropriate charms on a goat, so he did mention the man in Harry's presence before. It just wasn't included in the films. Also, in my head Dumbledore trusts Snape enough to discuss the Horcruxes with him.

'_Lingua universali_' - literally - 'become universal language' in Latin.


	4. All Our Yesterday's Are But Memories For

Chapter 4 - All Our Yesterday's Are But Memories For Today

* * *

The following night, as before, Harry sat in the headmaster's office listening to the man speak. He'd decided it was best to simply listen rather than press the wizard for answers that wouldn't be forthcoming. If Dumbledore said that he needed to hear this then he was going to listen - just because he had mixed feelings didn't make the mean he shouldn't listen. He had nothing better to do anyway and it didn't mean that Dumbledore's words were worthless.

"Now, if I recall correctly, please bear in mind, that I've had just as little sleep as you over the past few weeks, that I left our story with Bob Ogden's trip to the Gaunt's house," he began.

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded simply.

"Now, it only serves to tell you something of Tom Riddle's time at Hogwarts. I told you that he was a talented and trusted student, but as he grew, he gathered around him a group of dedicated friends, I call them that for want of a better term, but I have no doubt that he felt nothing for any of them. They were the forerunners of the Death Eaters, and many of them became the first Death Eaters after leaving school. Naturally, they were never openly detected in any wrong doing, but their school years were marked by a number of incidents, the worst being the opening of the Chamber of Secrets."

"Didn't you tell anyone else what he'd been like at the Orphanage?"

"No, I thought it best at the time not to pass judgement. I thought perhaps he had shown remorse and chose not to think on his time there again and, as I've admitted, I couldn't have been more wrong," Dumbledore said. "During his time here at Hogwarts he grew close to one particular teacher, a friend of mine called Horace Slughorn. He taught potions and he, rather like Tom, kept a group of students close to him, students who showed talent and skill, Tom was one of them."

"What do you mean he kept students around him?"

"Horace has a certain gift of foresight when it comes to knowing which students will be distinguished in later life. Tom was talented, he had great prospects, or so it was believed at the time and Horace saw this. He enjoys the company of the famous and the powerful, likes to think he influences them."

Harry bean to wonder, listening to the man speak, if this Horace Slughorn really was his friend. "I tell you this not to turn you against Horace, but I want you to keep this information in mind for the future. Believe me when I say that you will be thank for this. Now, if you would," Dumbledore said abruptly and gestured at the pensive for Harry.

* * *

The only person Harry recognised was a young looking Tom Riddle sitting in a room at a table with several other students and one teacher. After they talked for several minutes, only Riddle and the teacher, who Harry had heard was Horace Slughorn, were left in the room.

"Well, they're not like you, that is, they might...misunderstand," Riddle told Slughorn in a masterful, superior manner as he toyed with an ugly, bulky ring on his finger. "...It's called, as I understand it, a Horcrux," he remarked.

"What?" the man blinked and Harry saw the edges of the memory become slightly blurred and the voices started to sound muffled.

"A Horcrux," the young Riddle repeated, sounding like he was speaking underwater.

"I don't know anything about such things, and if I did I wouldn't tell you, now get out and don't let me catch you mentioning it again!" Slughorn bellowed, waving his hand furiously as the memory blurred out in smoke.

* * *

"Sir..." Harry began, stunned.

"As you saw, this memory has been tampered with," Dumbledore said quickly.

"Tampered with?" Harry repeated, "Who would..."

"Horace Slughorn," the man answered simply.

"Why would he tamper with his own memory?"

"I suspect he's ashamed of it."

"Why?"

"Why indeed?" Dumbledore mussed, "Now, Harry, this is the most important memory I have collected, it is also a lie. I want you to keep this memory in your mind. It is imperative," he insisted and Harry gave a confused but agreeable nod. "Now, I'd like us to move on.

"I haven't found many willing to recount their memories of Riddle during his school years but those whom I could persuade to talk said that he was obsessed with his parentage, understandable, of course, since he was raised in an orphanage with no clue as to his family. I believe that after he found no trace of his father, Tom Riddle senior in any Wizarding records he dropped the name forever and assumed the identity of Lord Voldemort. He beloved his mother to be weak because she succumbed to the 'shameful' human weakness of death and all he had to go on was the name 'Marvolo' from which he traced Slytherin's last descendants, the Gaunts. And, by this time, the only surviving member was his uncle Morfin; Marvolo having died several years after his release from Azkaban. And it was Morfin who provided me with this particular memory," Dumbledore finished and poured the memory into the pensive for Harry.

* * *

"_You look mighty like that Muggle_," a much more dishevelled and older looking Morfin Gaunt remarked to Tom Riddle standing before him in the hovel that Harry remembered as the Gaunt's home. Only now it was much worse foe the wear than it had been, and that was saying something. The man's clothes were beyond threadbare and he seemed to clutch a gold ring on one hand.

"_What Muggle_?" Riddle asked in Parseltongue.

"_That Muggle what lives in the big house over the way, the Muggle what my sister took a fancy to a'fore she ran off, robbed us too she did. Where's he locket, eh, Slytherin's locket?! What are you asking all these questions for, it's over innit...all over..._" the man lamented before everything went black.

* * *

"That's it? But...what happened?" Harry furrowed his brow.

"Morfin had no memory of what transpired afterwards. When he awoke he was lying on the floor with the last of Marvolo's treasured heirlooms - the ring, gone."

"...The ring," Harry blinked, "The ring Voldemort was wearing in Slughorn's memory!"

"Yes, Harry, the same ring, stolen from his uncle. Even at such a young age, Tom Riddle proved that he was capable of atrocities that most of us cannot dare contemplate. He showed no remorse for the attack on his uncle, and soon after, the murder of his father and maternal grandparents."

"What?"

"Oh yes, you see, Voldemort disarmed his uncle, stole his wand, went to the 'big house over the way' and killed the Muggle occupants, his last remaining family thus revenging himself on a father who never wanted him. Morfin, when questioned, boastfully admitted to committing the crime and was sent to Azkaban where he died."

"What? Why? Why would he admit to a crime he didn't do?"

"Because Voldemort planted false memories in his mind. You remember, of course, that memories can be tampered with."

"And he never realised the truth?"

"No, it took a great deal of skilled of Legilimency to coax the real memory from the depths of his mind. His wand had been used in the murders of the Riddle family and the man had confessed, he was already noted for being a vocal 'Muggle hater' so the case was rather cut and dry before I tracked him down and found the true memory. I did what I could to ensure his release but he died before a decision was made and was buried with the other poor souls who expire within the walls of that dreadful place. Morfin did not deserve his fate."

"If that memory was changed the same way as the other one and you still managed to get the real one, why can't you do that with Slughorn's memory, sir?" Harry asked suddenly.

"Morfin was weakened from years of imprisonment and he was never a talent Occlumens. Horace, however is a is a very able wizard and since I convinced him into giving me his travesty of a memory he has been on his guard. It would be foolishness to attempt to wrest the true memory from him; it would do more harm than good."

"But if it's as important as you said it is then surely..."

"There is time for us to come back to this at a later date, Harry," Dumbledore said calmly, "I will not risk a man's mind - a friend's mind - for my own purpose."

"It's not though, is it? Isn't it important?"

"Yes, but patience often yields better results than haste," the man said.

* * *

The sky above the Burrow was pitch black in the early hours of the morning and the atmosphere was thick. The night hours hadn't seemed quite normal for a long time in the Wizarding world and whether or not it was merely people's imagination, most agreed that something wasn't quite right anymore.

"I thought Harry was supposed to stay with us," Molly Weasley cried, sitting in the kitchen. She and her husband were sat with Dumbledore, the mismatched room illuminated by half a dozen small candles while their children slept upstairs.,

"Molly, please..." Dumbledore began slowly.

"The wards were for him," she said, "Weren't they?"

"Yes, they are, but they're also for you and your family. I'll be brining Harry here in two nights' time and in the morning, should he chose, he will leave with me."

"Leave for where?"

"That I cannot tell you," Dumbledore sighed.

"Is it important?" Arthur asked.

"Naturally."

"Will Harry be safe?"

"Are any of us 'safe' anymore?" the old wizard shook his head, "However, you know I would give my life to protect him."

"It's not that we don't trust you, Albus," Arthur said, "But he's been through enough, he needs to rest..."

"Were it possible then I would see that he could, but I need not remind you that we are at war," Dumbledore replied gently.

"But why him? Hasn't he suffered enough? He's only sixteen!" Molly shook her head.

"Harry has been through more than most grown wizards ever have to suffer in their worst nightmares and believe me when I say that I wish there was another way, but there isn't. One day you'll understand, but for the moment I cannot tell you why."

Molly gave a small, sad smile while her husband held his arm around her shaking shoulders. Both of them trusted the man before them, who was looking every one of his venerable years and more, and they all wished that things could be different.

* * *

Over the following two nights, Harry learned that the young Voldemort began his 'working life' after Hogwarts by applying for a teaching job. But was rejected by Dippet, the then headmaster on the grounds that he was young and inexperienced. He then took a job at Borgin and Burkes rather than, as many thought, taking an apprenticeship at the Ministry. Dumbledore told him that it was Riddle's job to persuade people to part with their most valuable objects, a task at which he was very accomplished, and during his time there, he visited an old woman named Hepzibah Smith. He murdered the woman, framed her house elf and stole Slytherin's locket which she had brought years previously. He also took a cup that had belonged to Helga Hufflepuff and never retuned to the shop.

"Why would be take the cup?" Harry asked.

"I believe that he still felt a great pull to the school and its ancient magic. An object that once belonged to one of the founders, was I think, a temptation he could not resist."

"But what would he do with it? What good was it to him? The locket I can understand, but..." the young wizard shrugged.

"I hope to explain this to you in due course, but we must continue," Dumbledore answered evasively before telling Harry more about Voldemort's life. He told Harry that Voldemort, ten years after leaving Hogwarts, re-applied for the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching post at Hogwarts but he, headmaster at the time, turned Tom away. Subsequently, the job became 'cursed.'

"Why did he want the job so badly, sir?"

"Tom, like many people, was happiest here at Hogwarts, and I believe they prospect of remaining here to discover yet more of the castle's secrets wasn't one he could ignore. Also, I think that he planed to use the school as a training ground of sorts for future Death Eaters. But, no matter his reasons, I turned him away, I knew that he was already too deeply entrenched within the Dark Arts. And now, Harry I must tell you something further," Dumbledore said, standing up and walking over to lean back against his desk in front of Harry.

"Sir?" Harry spoke when the man remained silent.

"I've already attempted to impart on you just how important Tom's 'magpie-like' tendencies are, and now I will tell you why," the old wizard said and Harry listened with rapt enthusiasm. "A Horcrux, then, is created through the worst act against human nature - murder - Harry - murder - as I've already told you, rips the soul apart. To my knowledge, throughout history only two wizards have succeeded in creating them."

"But what are they?" Harry interrupted.

"When the soul is torn apart through murder, a fragment can be used to anchor your soul to earth. In other words if you, as a person with a horcrux, are killed, then that horcrux which anchored your soul will mean that you cannot die."

"...You could be immortal?"

"However, if that Horcrux is destroyed after you have already been 'killed' then you would die."

"But if you hid the Horcrux, if no one ever found it then..."

"Then, yes, a person would be immortal," Dumbledore answered.

"And...Voldemort was asking Slughorn about them but he didn't tell him anything...or...did he? Did he change his memory because he said something to him?"

"Very astute, Harry, yes, I am inclined to agree with you."

"So you know that Slughorn told him something...then why is the real memory still important?"

"What Horace told Tom that night is essential, Harry, one day we must discover what it was. You see, Voldemort, to my knowledge, made more than one Horcrux..."

"He made more than one!"

"Yes, mutilating both his body and soul in the process."

"But he could have...I dunno...fifty of them or something..." Harry groaned.

"I know that he made more than one, but I doubt it is possible for any wizard to make so many as fifty."

"So...if you found all the Horcruxes, if you could destroy each one, then..."

"One destroys Voldemort," the old wizard nodded.

"But how would you find them? He could've hidden them anywhere," Harry said.

"True but magic, especially Dark magic leaves traces. I taught Tom Riddle, I know his power. Furthermore, you, Harry have already destroyed one Horcrux."

"Me? When?"

In answer, Dumbledore walked back to his desk, opened a drawer and pulled out the battered and torn book that had once been a diary. "Tom Riddle's diary," Harry whispered.

"When you saved Ginny Weasely's life in the Chamber four years ago you brought me this. I knew then that this was very dark magic and since then I..."

"You've been looking for more Horcruxes?"

"Yes, and I believe I may have found one," Dumbledore answered.

"How do you know what they are?"

"You remember Tom's..."

"'Magpie-like' behaviour," Harry said quickly in understanding, "That's why you've been finding these memories, isn't it?"

"Correct."

"Then...what is this Horcrux?"

"The ring, I believe."

"The ring...Marvolo's ring...then...Hufflepuff's cup..." Harry spoke quickly.

"It too, I am strongly inclined to believe is a Horcrux, yes," Dumbledore acquiesced.

"So, then, he made three? The diary, the ring and the cup."

"I think that Tom wanted to return to Hogwarts to find other artefacts that once belonged to the founders, I think they appealed greatly to him as prospective Horcruxes."

"Did he? Did he find other objects?"

"The locket, you recall that he mother sold, which he later stole from Hepzibah Smith once belonged to Salazar Slytherin, it too I am sure is a Horcrux..."

"So there's four?!"

"As you have mentioned, there is the cup of Helga Hufflepuff and, as you may have heard, Ravenclaw's diadem has long since been lost, but perhaps he discovered it on his travels, at present I have no way of knowing for sure. We can at least be certain that Gryffindor's sword remains safe," Dumbledore summarised. "I can say with confidence that he made four, perhaps five, but that is the best I can do at the moment. I have some suspicions of another, but I could be woefully inaccurate."

"What is it?"

"The snake Nagini, I'm informed that Voldemort keeps her remarkably close, but he is a Parselmouth. It doesn't necessarily mean that it too is a Horcrux. Using a living vessel as a Horcrux has repercussions, but these only only suspicions, as I said."

"...You said," Harry began after taking in this new information, "That you might have found one."

"Yes."

"And you're leaving tonight...you're going to go and get it, aren't you?"

"I am."

"Can't I...can't I go with you?" Harry asked, mustering his Gryffindor courage.

"I confess, that is the choice I must offer you now," Dumbledore sighed heavily, "First, no matter what you choose, I escort you safely to the Burrow where you may or may not designate to spend your time before school - the wards were, I believe, necessary one way or the other, to protect the Weasley family. Or, you remain there for a short time while I make preparations for you to travel with me to find the Horcrux."

"If I go with you, what happens after we find it?"

"We destroy it and work on finding the others," the old wizard answered gravely.

"And that means I can't go to the Burrow after?"

"I think you underestimate how long and arduous our task will be; it has taken me many years to get to this, initial stage."

"Can't I at least tell Ron and Herminone..."

"Should you choose to leave with me, I will give you time to discuss this with your friends who have already proven to be just as trustworthy as you. But I would prefer that this went no further."

As Dumbledore had suggested last night, Harry packed his trunk and it now waited at the Burrow along with Hedwig so he had no need to return to Privet Drive. The old wizard had earlier that night, informed his relatives that he wouldn't be returning for some time, and that of course had been with indifference, before he'd apparated them both to his office. Now it was time for him to leave again, and though it was little choice at all, he knew what to do.

"I want to go with you," Harry declared.


	5. Upon This Charge, Cry God For Harry,

Chapter 5 - Upon This Charge, Cry God For Harry, England And Saint George

* * *

Harry soon found himself in the Burrow, his second favourite place in the world after Hogwarts, with a teary eyed Molly Weasley serving him a huge portion of steaming vegetable soup and half a loaf of bread. It was around three in the morning and Dumbledore had left after a brief conversation with Arthur Weasley with the grim promise to Harry of returning as soon as he was able.

"When are you leaving then, Harry?" Arthur asked him.

"Erm, Dumbledore said he'd be back in a few hours," he answered, swallowing a mouthful of hot soup.

"Do you know where you're going?"

"In a way," Harry replied, "...But I can't..."

"I know, Dumbledore said you can't tell us, I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were getting yourself in for since we don't."

"It's not that he doesn't..."

"...Trust us?" Mrs. Weasley said for him, "We know, we just want you to be safe."

"I'll be safe enough, I'll be with Professor Dumbledore," Harry said, "Besides, it's not like anywhere's really safe anymore, is it?"

"That's what he said," Arthur gave him a sardonic smile.

"You spoke to him?"

"He was here a few nights ago," Mrs. Weasley nodded, "We tried to talk him out of this but he wouldn't change his mind."

"It's not like I have much of a choice," Harry sighed, now understanding just how Dumbledore felt when he desperately wanted to tell someone something but knew he couldn't.

"Well...you be careful," Molly sighed, "In whatever it is you '**have**' to do."

* * *

A while later, Harry climbed the stairs to his friend's room and found Ron fast asleep in his bed, understandable considering the hour. He walked over to his friend and tried valiantly to wake him.

"Ron," he whispered, gently nudging his friends shoulder.

"Mmmm..." Ron muttered, "G'way...sleep..."

"Ron, get up," Harry frowned, nudging his friend again.

"Mm...hmm..."

"Ron!" Harry growled.

"What?" his friend rubbed his sleepy eyes and clumsily sat up, "...Can't this wait?"

"No, it can't, I'm leaving soon and I don't know when I'll be back," Harry told him quickly.

"...Mmm...wait what?"

"I'm leaving with Dumbledore and I..."

"Thought you were stayin' 'ere."

"Yeah, so did I, but I can't. I have to go. Where's Hermione?"

"...Err...she's...Ginny's room," Ron dragged a hand through his hair with a yawn.

Harry walked quietly and found that Hermione was just as difficult, if no more difficult to wake than Ron and a few minutes later, he slouched against Ron's bed on the floor with his friends sat opposite him.

"Why do you need to go? You haven't even said where it is you're going," Hermione shook her headache while later.

"I wouldn't go if it wasn't important," Harry insisted.

"So you've said, but I don't..."

"Look, I don't think I have time to tell you everything, but I'll try," he began, "I've been meeting with Dumbledore and he's been telling me about Voldemort's past..."

"What the bloody hell for?" Ron asked.

"So we can stop him, just hear me out. There's these...these things, they're called Horcruxes and they're keeping him alive..."

"What is a Horcrux? I've never heard of them," Hermione remarked.

"It something that you put a piece of your soul in so if your body dies you can come back. Voldemort has them but if we find them and destroy them, then he can die. Then we can kill him. Dumbledore knows what some of them are and I'm going with him to find them."

"Harry, won't that be dangerous..." she asked.

"Probably, but it's not like I have a choice..."

"Why don't you?" Ron shrugged, "Who says you have to go?"

"The prophecy says so. I'm the one who's supposed to kill him. He 'marked me' as his equal..."

"Harry..." Hermione began sadly.

"I don't want to hear it, I'll be going soon and I don't know when I'll see you again, so can we just talk about something else?" Harry said quickly and his friends shared a nervous glance.

"Bill's getting married," Ron said quickly and Harry blinked.

"What? Really? Who to?"

"Fleur," he answered, "Y'remember her from the Tournament? Mum went mad when he told us."

"Why?"

"Thinks they're rushing into things 'cos of...well...y'know.." Ron shrugged.

After an hour or so of meaningless conversation, just as Harry felt himself relaxing in the company of his friends he heard the door creak open and the three of them fell silent.

"Harry," Dumbledore spoke, breaking the silence.

The three teenagers looked across at the Headmaster and Harry stood up, "I'll be fine," he said quietly to his friends before standing up, "I'll, erm, see you later," he added with a brief smile. His friends smiled back and Hermione flung herself into her friends' arms before Ron did the same in a firm embrace before they closed the door leaving Harry and the headmaster alone in the corridor.

"You have your wand, of course?" the old wizard asked him and he nodded.

Harry then walked over to Dumbledore and turned to face his friends one last time. "Sir, what about Hedwig and my trunk?"

"I've sent them to my office where we won't be encumbered by them but where we're going, Harry, you'll have little need for them," the man answered him."But there is one condition on which I take you with me tonight; you must obey any command I give you without question."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied.

"You understand what I'm saying; should I tell you to hide you hide. Should I tell you to run you run. Should I tell you to abandon me and save yourself you must do so...Your word, Harry."

Harry hesitated, knowing that he could never act to save his own life is someone else was in danger whether it be Dumbledore or anyone else. But he also knew that the man might decide not to take him along should he fail to agree. "...My word," he said, reluctantly, aware that Dumbledore could probably see right through him.

Dumbledore gave an acknowledging nod before holding out his arm which Harry took and they both vanished from the Burrow.

* * *

Under a darkened sky, across rolling fields of wildflowers and among the nocturnal sounds of animals, Harry walked quickly behind Professor Dumbledore.

"Where are we?" Harry asked after a minute or so of silent walking.

"Just outside the Muggle village of Little Hangleton."

"Why would Voldemort hide a Horcrux in a Muggle village?"

"We are just outside the village, Harry, and it is not the village that is important," Dumbledore said enigmatically as a blackened, battered building emerged from the overgrown flora.

"The Gaunts' house," Harry said in realisation upon seeing the dilapidated structure.

"Correct," Dumbledore affirmed coming to a standstill.

The shack appeared even more grim in the darkness and Harry wondered why it hadn't been pulled down before now. It was a miracle that it was still standing, well, most of it was still standing at any rate. There were parts of the roof that had collapsed inwards and the walls bowed under the weight of the remaining rafters.

"And you think there's a Horcrux in there?"

"I'm fairly certain of it."

"Then why don't we go and get it?" Harry asked, wondering why they were simply standing there.

"You think Tom would risk anyone walking into the home of his ancestors and taking it? No, I believe he will have put certain defences in position to protect his Horcrux," Dumbledore told him, "Wands out, Harry," he said.

Both wizards lit the tips of their wands as Dumbledore gently pushed open the door which gave a protesting groan and fell backwards to collide with the wall behind it on weak hinges. He took a tentative step into the house while Harry moved to stand at his side as the rotting floorboards creaked beneath them. Inside there was nothing but sheer chaos illuminated by their wands with the furniture all broken and scattered around, the fallen roof rafters and tiles lay in cumbersome piles on the floor.

"It could take years to find the ring in here," Harry said in frustration as he saw the pure disarray in the shack.

"Dark magic leaves traces, Harry, I will be able to find it with relative ease," Dumbledore said as be slowly stalked around the room. His piecing blue eyes scanned the area for traces of Dark magic but found that the entire room bore its traces thanks to its former inhabitants. Luckily though, that magic was older than the magic used on the Horcrux so he was able to distinguish between them.

Harry stood in silence as the headmaster worked, listening as the man occasionally muttered to himself quietly in a language that he couldn't understand. Then the man knelt down and caressed his hand over the air just above the wooden floorboards which Merope Gaunt had once taken so much effort t clean. Reaching down with his left hand, keeping his wand pointed down, he removed a chunk of the loose wood that was simply crumbling away from years of neglect. "It's here," Dumbledore whispered, "There is Dark magic here."

"Under the floorboards?" Harry furrowed his brow. To him it seemed a very childish place for someone who claimed to be the worlds' most dangerous Dark Lord of all time to hide one of his most prized treasures of immortality.

Dumbledore, with one hand, attempted to pry up the wooden boards but some were, despite their poor condition, still managing to cling firmly onto the ground. "Sir, I can..." Harry began, kneeling down opposite the older man but couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. For all the, oftentimes, energetic outbursts and for all his famed reputation, it couldn't be denied that Albus Dumbledore wasn't exactly a young man anymore.

"Most kind," the man simply said and for some reason, Harry felt a rush of embarrassment before he put down his wand and began to search for weak spots in the joints between the boards. Some snapped off with loud cracks and sharp snaps with small showers of rotten splinters and Harry felt sure that several of them lodged in his skin.

"I think that's more than sufficient, thank you, Harry," Dumbledore said after Harry had made a sizeable hole in the floor. Dumbledore waved his wand over Harry's hands and the splinters, which he'd dreaded having to remove, vanished by themselves much to his amazement.

"I didn't know there was a spell for getting rid of splinters," Harry remarked.

"There may indeed be such a spell. I don't profess to know every one ever created," Dumbledore chuckled, "However, that wasn't it. I merely transfigured the wood back into its component molecules...much less harmful than a dozen splinters," he explained and they turned their attention to the mess that was uncovered under the floor.

They sifted through the mass of overgrown plant life, dust and decay for several minutes, removing more of what Harry simply termed 'junk'. Why there was so much under the floorboards he didn't know, but there was chunks of broken furniture of every size and shape, along with torn pieces of parchment with long faded print and so, when Harry found a battered gold box he went to set it aside before Dumbledore spoke.

"There!" he said, holding up his hand.

"...The Horcrux is in here?" Harry asked when the man started intently at the gold box. It seemed just as unassuming as everything else they'd seen so far, it was battered and dusty and he certainly didn't sense whatever it was that Dumbledore did. To him, the box appeared unimportant and uninteresting but perhaps that was due to a spell on it that he couldn't see through.

"Before we can even get to it we must first rid this box of its curse," Dumbledore told him, "Were we to open it now I fear the results would be most unpleasant. Set it down, gently."

Harry did so and watched further as the headmaster waved his wand in complex movements, some making the air around the small box change colour, another making it rattle by itself until it clicked, like a key in a lock. The lid lifted itself up by a mere millimetre before emitting a puff of dark smoke eerily. Harry looked up and Dumbledore nodded, allowing him to prise open the lid to reveal the bulky gold ring with its ugly black stone. He lifted the box and allowed the light from Dumbledore's wand to illuminate it further when a sharp intake of breath made him look up.

"Sir?" Harry breathed when he saw the almost manic expression in the usual tranquil eyes of his headmaster.

"The stone..." Dumbledore muttered, "Can it be...after all these years?" he stared intently into the open box and his eyes widened. "Give it to me," the man ordered getting to his feet, "The ring...the stone, I must have it, give it to me, Harry," he said.

Harry shakily stood and took slow steps back as Dumbledore advanced on him, realising, too late, that he'd left his wand on the floor. Wondering if this was yet another curse, he wasn't sure that touching it would do any good so he continued to take tentative steps, now trying to move towards his wand while keeping hold of the box in his hand.

"Sir, please..."

"Give it to me!"

"But...sir..." Harry said cautiously, noting that Dumbledore clutched his wand and could attack at any moment. Whether or not he had his wand, he certainly didn't fancy his chances against Dumbledore. "Sir, there was a curse on the box...the ring could be..."

"Not the ring, boy! The stone! The stone, I must have it!" he older wizard insisted, his deep voice resonating masterfully in the small shack.

"The stone?" Harry repeated, confused.

"The stone in the ring! I never realised! How blind! All these years! The symbol! The symbol is there!"

"What symbol?" Harry asked, now feeling the heel of his shoe touch his wand on the floor.

"The Peverell's! The Hallows!" Dumbledore said and Harry frowned in confusion. He knelt and managed to find his wand, standing up slowly like a corned animal he felt his back hit the wall.

"Sir..."

"Enough! Give it to me now!" the older wizard growled, raising his wand.

Harry watched as Dumbledore swirled his wand and small lighting bolts of blue and white crackled around him. A rapidly growing lighting bolt coiled around Dumbledore's wand and followed his movements before he sent it straight at Harry without warning.

"_Protego_!" he cried, feeling the onslaught of the powerful attack impact with his much weaker shield charm. A second later and Harry knew he'd have been too late.

Under the strain of keeping up his failing shield, the box fell from his hand and the lid slammed shut as it clattered to the ground. To Harry it seemed to take an age for the attack to finish and he was sent flying into the wall behind him like a rag doll as his shield failed and his wand flew from his hand. Every muscle ached from one single attack and being slammed into the wall hadn't help either. It was lucky that the house was still standing after such an impact though, certainly, it had shaken down to its weak foundations.

"...Harry..."

Harry looked up, dreading another attack he frantically searched for his wand in the dark but he couldn't see it. "It's alright, Harry, relax," Dumbledore said and Harry chanced a glance at the man. The aged wizard was leaning against a table with his wand arm resting at his side rather than pointing at Harry again which was a great comfort to him. He groaned as he pushed himself up, rushing his aching muscles as he moved.

"I, erm, I guess you missed that curse," Harry remarked to break the tense silence.

"No...I'm ashamed to say that was no curse," Dumbledore sighed, "Are you alright?"

"...Fine..." he answered with a shrug which only served to make him wince in pain.

"I'm sorry, Harry," the older wizard said genuinely, ashamed of his actions, "Truly...I am...exceedingly sorry..."

"What's so important about the stone?" Harry asked, picking up the closed box and retrieving his wand.

"Ah, the stone," Dumbledore lamented, "The stone...holds great power...the stone is a story for another time. What concerns us now is the Horcrux in the ring rather than the power of the stone."

"...Isn't it the same thing?"

"No."

"How do we destroy it?"

"There are few things that have the power to destroy the power of a Horcrux, four years ago, you very successfully used..."

"The Basilisks' tooth!" Harry exclaimed.

"Coated in venom, yes, and since you used Gryffindor's sword to slay the Basilisk its blade has been imbued with its deadly powers so it should do quite nicely," Dumbledore held out his left hand for Harry to give him to box.

Naturally, Harry was somewhat hesitant and the older wizard gave a sardonic smile, "Quite right," he said, "Quite right...now, the sword is in my office, come," he held out his arm once more.

* * *

A.N. Now at last I can start to change things. I know that, so far, things haven't differed much from the canon story, but I needed to set things up, so thank you, guys, for your awesome patience. And an even bigger thank you to those of you taking the time to review :)


	6. Good And Bad Are Opposites

Chapter 6 - Good And Bad Are Opposites; The Greater Good Is Halfway Back To Bad

* * *

Harry felt as though he'd spent more time in the Headmaster's office in the last week alone than he had in the entirety of last year, which wasn't that much of an exaggeration, he thought. Hedwig was sitting beside Fawkes on the phoenix's perch, both birds looking very cramped but happily chirping in the silence as Harry himself stood beside Dumbledore as they both stared down at the gold ring in its box which lay on the desk.

"Is it cursed as well?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the man muttered, "Much like the box was," he said.

"Can't we just destroy it? Won't that break the curse?"

"It's probable, but I should think it safer if I break the curse before we destroy the Horcrux," Dumbledore said as he picked up the ring. "Yes," he breathed, "...A very powerful curse to ensure almost certain death to anyone who dares to wear this ring."

Harry watched closely, his eyes following Dumbledore's every move as the older wizard turned the ring about in his fingers, "After all these years," he said, too deep in thought to notice Harry's presence. "I'd long since abandoned any hope but...here it is...I can see them again...I can see her again...I can tell them...finally..." the older wizard continued to himself and, to Harry's horror, he went to put the ring on his index finger.

"Sir, don't!" Harry cried instantly, rushing forwards and grabbing Dumbledore's arm.

Dumbledore blinked and slowly glanced at Harry, his eyes focusing once more and he let out a deep breath, "Apologies, Harry," he said, "It seems I owe you a debt once again tonight." He relaxed his arm and deposited the ring back into its box and drew out his wand, whispering something that Harry didn't understand. The second the old wizard had spoken, small sparks of light burst from the ring as well as black shadows and the old ring started to jump about as though in protest of Dumbledore's curse breaking.

After a few minutes, each of which seemed to take hours to pass, Dumbledore lowered his wand with a heavy sigh. "That was a curse of prodigious skill," he remarked, "And now for the Horcrux itself," the man continued and took the sword from the surface of the desk.

Dumbledore placed the ring on the floor and moved to stand in front of it, "I suggest you stand back, Harry, I can't be entirely sure what will happen," he said, gripping the sword in one hand and his wand in the other.

"Maybe I should..." Harry began, glancing at the sword.

"I suspect it will sense me the moment I attempt to destroy it if it hasn't done so already, and should anything prevent me, you may have to," the older wizard said and Harry nodded.

Dumbledore raised the sword and brought it down towards the ring but before the silver blade could touch it, a black smoke seeped out and seemed to engulf the old wizard entirely. A strong force pushed Harry backwards and he landed hard on the ground, his very bones quivered from the impact. When he looked up he saw a strange sight indeed. Everything looked different, things were distorted like he was looking through water, and the air danced like on a hot summer day.

He had no idea what was happening to the Headmaster, he couldn't see a single trace of the man anymore, he'd simply vanished in the thick, black smoke in a split second. Harry couldn't even see Hedwig or Fawkes anymore either. When he stood and tried to move to where Dumbledore had been standing he was thrown backwards again and it took him a moment to be able to move his aching limbs. Clutching his wand he searched his mind for a spell that would help in any way, but he didn't know what it was he was fighting. How could he attack smoke? How could he defend himself against against something that had no form?

Just as he looked up a second time, he heard the sharp, echoing clatter of metal on stone and he could just about see the sword through the moving shadows. Instantly, he raised his wand and cried out, "_Accio sword_!" but the blade remained where it was. So, he pushed himself up and ran over to it through the black smoke but it felt like he was wading through deep water. His movements seemed slow and sluggish and he could hear a loud roaring in his ears, like the Horcrux was screaming out at him for daring to destroy it. Each step felt as though he was running a marathon and the closer he got to the sword the more he thought he could hear voices, some screaming and some shouting. As it got louder he recognised it as the same screaming he'd heard when under attack by Dementors. He heard the voice that snuffed out Cedric's life and another voice that shouted out the curse that killed Sirius every night when he slept.

The voices slowed Harry down and as the scenes of his nightmares replayed in his mind he lost focus on what he was actually doing. It took a loud, inexplicable cry from Fawkes, echoing in the room, to make him look around and see the sword once again. When he moved forwards he felt the strong pulse around him and knew he was going to be thrown back again but before it happened a golden light surrounded him and the shadows melted on contact. Deciding not to let an advantage go to waste, Harry rushed towards the sword and was able to pick it up, he clutched the hilt in his hands he looked down to see the gold of the ring just visible through the darkness emanating from it. Without another thought, Harry raised his arm and brought the sword down on the ring and the second afterward, all traces of the black smoke and thick atmosphere simply disappeared.

Harry fell to his knees, the sword falling loosely from his hands as he did so. He looked across the room to see Dumbledore lying on the ground, as though he'd been thrown back like Harry had, his wand was pointed at Harry himself and he pieced together that Dumbledore had been the reason he hadn't been thrown back a third time as he'd gone for the sword. The light now dimmed and faded as their eyes met in relief.

"Well done, Harry, well done indeed," Dumbledore said finally, his breathing just as heavy as Harry's.

The older wizard pushed himself up from the floor and Harry did the same before moving to retrieve the cracked ring. The stone had been severed from the gold ring by the sword and he picked up the black, cracked stone and then went to pick up the ring. But the second his fingers touched it he saw flashes of Voldemort at different stages in his life and he pulled his hand back as though he'd been burned. Dumbledore reached down and took the ring, then regarded him with an expression he couldn't quite place or describe. He held out his hand and Harry, slowly relinquished his hold on it to drop into the Headmaster's open palm.

"You're not injured, I hope?" he asked Harry.

"I'm fine," he answered, as Dumbledore's piercing blue stare studied him.

"If you were thrown as I was I'm afraid I must disagree with you; neither the cabinets nor the flooring were designed with such an act in mind," he said and several of the portraits snorted as the shock of what they'd witnessed, began to ware off.

Dumbledore, taking both ring and stone, walked over to his desk, sat down and put the objects in his drawer, taking the chance to rest his protesting muscles. "Sit down, Harry, I think you've earned a rest," he said when Harry lingered across the room.

Harry hesitated for a moment before picking up the sword and walking towards the desk. He lay the shining blade across the old surface of the familiar desk and leaned forwards in his chair. He still had questions, many questions about what had happened both in the destruction of the Horcrux and about what had happened in the Gaunts' shack but he didn't know whether or not the Headmaster would be forthcoming with answers on either subject.

"That symbol on the ring...you mentioned it like it was something important. What is it? What does it mean?" the young wizard asked, deciding to hope for the best.

"Ah, Harry..." Dumbledore sighed, "The stone...it means, that our friends, the Gaunts where mistaken in believing that the ring belonged to Slytherin..."

"And that made you..." the young wizard broke off with a helpless shrug, "...Attack me?"

"...Here I must beg your forgiveness for an old man's folly, but I'd long since abandoned any hope that the stone would ever be found. I didn't realise it's true significance until I saw the symbol and then of course, all of my old dreams, my old, foolish hopes...returned."

"What hopes? I don't understand, what is the stone?" Harry asked again, beginning to get frustrated by Dumbledore's evasive responses.

"It's possible that Voldemort didn't know, or simply didn't care about its power, but it is, and remains a Hallow, Harry, one of three legendary objects of great power."

"A...a Hallow?" the young wizard repeated, having never before heard the term.

"My mother," Dumbledore began , "Used to tell me and my siblings many stories as children but this one, even when I was young, this one was always my favourite..."

"...Sir..." Harry said, not sure what significance that children's tales held.

"I know you, Harry, I know you'll not leave this alone until you understand but please have patience," Dumbledore sighed. "The story then, the Hallows...the Hallows were, supposedly, given by Death to three brothers, one of these Hallows was a stone - a powerful stone of resurrection."

"...What?"

"Yes, I admit though, as a child, it was never the stone that interested me. It was not until I was a man that the mere concept of the stone became something capable of removing all rational thought from my mind."

"Can it really...bring people back?"

"Harry...despite my reactions...despite all my hopes, it cannot do so, not truly. If used, as the story says, what returns will be a tormented soul trapped in a world it does not belong to, bringing with it unbearable agony for the user."

"But you were..."

"I was, and still am a fool," Dumbledore shook his head and leaned over his desk. "I thought, just as I did as a young man, that I could bring back my parents...and tell them how deeply sorry I am," he added quietly, so quietly Harry wasn't sure he was meant to hear it.

He furrowed his brow in confusion listening to the defeated tone of the man's voice. Harry had no idea what had happened in his headmaster's past but he recognised the look on Dumbledore's face as the same one he had worn himself when he'd been told not to look for the Mirror of Erised anymore in his first year. It had been his only window into a family he could never have and when the image of that family was gone I longer there, it had been heartbreaking. Harry was used to people, sometimes complete strangers, giving him their sympathies for his loss but all it did each time was make him dwell on said losses. He didn't want to spend his time thinking about the family he lost, he liked to remember them by looking at the photographs in his album and remembering them by what he'd had for the first year of his life.

"So...erm...the symbol then..." he coughed, lightly. He was sure that Dumbledore didn't want people prying into his life and Harry wasn't going to.

"It is the mark of the three Hallows, yes."

"What are the other two, sir?"

"Here is the stone," Dumbledore said, raising his head and taking up his quill pen, he quickly drew the circle on a piece of parchment and continued. "It was given to the second brother who wanted to bring back his deceased love. A magical cloak able to prevent Death from following him, was given youngest, wisest brother. And a powerful wand made of elder wood went to the first brother who desired above all to be invincible," he said, drawing the triangle for the cloak and the single line for the wand.

Harry saw the simple symbol drawn in ink as had been carved in the stone as the older wizard put down his pen, "According to the tale, Death appeared to the brothers when they conjured a bridge over a ravine which had cost many a man his life. He was cheated out of his victims and so, very cleverly, he gave to each of them what they wanted most. The first brother used his powerful wand and killed a fellow wizard he'd once quarrelled with, he later boasted of its power but it was stolen from him when he slept, the thief slit his throat. The second brother brought back the woman he'd once loved but was driven to take his own life when he saw how lifeless and cold she was, and so, two of the brothers were very swiftly taken by Death. The third brother, hidden by his cloak, only emerged after many years and greeted Death as an old friend...Out of curiosity, Harry, tell me which Hallow is the most powerful, think carefully."

"Well," Harry began, "There's no such thing as an invincible wand, is there?" he asked, but Dumbledore didn't answer so he continued. "A wand can't make a person unbeatable and even if it could...it just got stolen from the first brother, so it'd be pointless anyway."

"Go on," the older wizard prompted, a smile on his face.

"And...you can't...bring the dead back," he sighed, "But...still..."

"But the mere thought of the possibility is enough to throw rational thought from your mind...just as it does, mine," Dumbledore nodded. "I never did find the cloak as tempting. At first I desired, like many before me, to possess the wand of ultimate power, but as I grew, after I'd made the worst mistakes of my life, the stone seemed to promise all that I desired. The most famous, or perhaps, infamous part of the legend, is that, together, the three Hallows are said to make a person the Master of Death - the Three Deathly Hallows. Many a life has been wasted in pursuit of them, believe me, Harry."

"Master of Death? Does that make a person...does that mean you could live forever?"

"No, no, the true Master of Death does not seek to run from Death. He accepts that he must die and understands that there are far worse things than dying," Dumbledore told Harry, "I only wish I could have learned this sooner."

"Sir...what..."

"Now, Harry, for a job well done, I'd very much appreciate it if you joined me at the Hog' Head for a drink," Dumbledore said, standing up before Harry could voice his question.

"Erm...sir...is that really a good idea?" Harry asked delicately, "What about the other Horcruxes?"

"I think you underestimate our victory here tonight; destroying a Horcrux is no simple feat."

"But there still more of them left, isn't there?"

"Yes, and we will find those too, but before our world becomes completely engulfed by war we should enjoy what time we have left."

"I thought we were in a state of open warfare," Harry frowned.

"Yes, but this is the calm before the storm, believe me when I say that once the storm hits you'll know it. I've seen enough wars to know that rushing in head first won't necessarily end well. Now, I'd prefer it if you wore your cloak once we leave my office," Dumbledore said, "Your trunk is just back there," he added, gesturing to the small alcove behind his desk.

Harry nodded and went to open his trunk and found his cloak folded neatly on the top. He took it, closed the trunk and went back to stand by Dumbledore.

"Couldn't we just apparate, sir?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Yes, but should wizards apparate whenever we wished to travel we would become very lazy indeed. The walk will do us both good and I was under the impression that you would appreciate travel by another means where possible," Dumbledore gave a small smile. Harry, appreciative of the break from apparition, held his cloak as they walked towards the door.

"Who else is still here?" Harry asked.

"A handful of trusted friends and colleges, but I'd rather the knowledge of your being here is limited where possible."

"But people will see me in the Hog's Head with you," Harry pointed out as he donned his cloak.

"You have visited the establishment before, haven't you?" Dumbledore asked shrewdly.

"Erm...yes," Harry said, deciding to be honest.

"Then you know it's much more secluded than The Three Broomsticks and I have it on good authority that it's been a quiet few days, added to the fact that it's nearing dawn I, don't think there'll be anything for you to worry about."

Not knowing what else to say, Harry fell silent as they walked through the castle and out into the early morning air.


	7. Drink Because You're Happy, Not Because

Chapter 7 - Drink Because You're Happy, Not Because You're Miserable

* * *

As Dumbledore had foretold, the Hog's Head was deserted, its single dark, dingy room was inhabited only by a lone bartender. Aberforth Dumbledore was sat slouching over the bar with several empty, grimy goblets lying around as he flicked through a deck of cards, working on a wizard version of solitaire in which he seemed to have abandoned all the rules.

"I rather think it's safe for you to remove your cloak, Harry," the Headmaster said, looking down at the younger wizard.

Harry did as the man suggested and folded up the cloak; little did he know, the cloak he valued so highly was one of the Hallows he'd learned about not so long ago. But of course, he had little reason to suspect that it was. Dumbledore had made sure to make no mention of the word 'invisibility' in his description of the cloak in his tale.

"Another quiet night, then?" Dumbledore addressed the barman.

"Same as it's always been," the man answered gruffly, "What'd you want?"

"A drink would be much appreciated," came the calm reply.

"Drink o' what? Ogden's Firewhiskey? Mead? Rum? Vodka? Campbell's Finest?" the bartender rattled off without looking up from his dusty cards. "...Managed t'get me hands on some Fae brewed Spiritus from '47."

"Do I want to know how?"

"No, now y' interested or not?"

Dumbledore nodded and the bartender finally moved to unlock a cupboard and took out a dusty old bottle, "S'not cheap, y'know," he remarked before popping the cork.

"I trust it'll be worth it."

"Y'want the bottle?"

"This is a celebration," Dumbledore nodded.

"Humph," the bartender hummed and opened the bottle. He retrieved two glasses from underneath the bar and filled both to the brim before slamming the bottle back down in the bar.

"You'll have a drink with us?" the Headmaster said, taking one of the glasses.

"What we celebratin'?"

"A small success on the long road to victory," Dumbledore answered cryptically.

Harry was rather taken aback by the gruff and rude manner of the bartender towards the Headmaster. He wasn't sure whether it was the man's usual attitude towards anyone in his pub since he didn't know him. The only other time he'd been in the Inn was when they'd been in the initial stages of forming the DA and he'd been more than a little preoccupied back then to notice much about the man. He remembered that there'd been a runaway goat and that was about it. But now that he was looking at the two men at he same time, he could see a distinct resemblance and not only because they both had long hair and beards. He watched as the bartender poured himself a drink and pushed the remaining glass towards him.

"Drink up, boy, there's people out there what'd give their wands for a bottle o' this," he said.

"Erm...you know I'm not seventeen yet, right?" Harry asked Dumbledore, though not at all reluctant to drink.

"Correct," Dumbledore said.

"Hmph, the greatest Wizard of the century's got an underage drinkin' friend, Prophet'd love t' hear bout that."

"You don't read the newspapers," the Headmaster remarked, "Neither do you care about monetary rewards for such stories."

"Hmph," the man repeated.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, turning to face him, "I more than think you've earned this after tonight, though I would advise you not to test your limits."

"If the lad doesn't want it, I'll have it," the bartender remarked quickly, reaching for the glass.

"No," Harry said, wrapping his fingers around the dusty glass, "I never said I didn't."

"To the long road," Dumbledore said, holding up his glass.

"To Fae spirits," the bartender added clunking his glass against the Headmasters and the two turned to Harry.

"To underage drinking," Harry tried not to smile as the bartender let out a loud, booming laugh.

"Aye, that too," he chuckled as their three glasses met. He took a great gulp from his glass before staring at Harry, "You was in 'ere last year, weren't you, boy?" he asked, "You and your friends."

"Yes," the young wizard nodded, taking a sip of his drink. It was strong but at the same time as it burned his throat it felt as though he were being enveloped by a warm blanket of feathers.

"So, what was it y'was doin'?" the bartender asked. He of course, knew what it was the students had been plotting, in fact, he'd been the one to inform the Order about it. But he wanted to see what Harry would say about it, if anything.

"All due respect, sir, that's my business," Harry answered even though the man hadn't done much to earn any respect by his rude manner.

"S'my pub that makes it my business."

"Then you should've asked at the time," Harry said, wary of the questioning and confused when the man laughed again.

"You got mettle, boy," he said.

"My name's not boy, it's Harry," Harry couldn't help but say after he'd heard the man refer to him as 'boy' once again. He was more than surprised when the response he got was a smile.

"Where'd you find this one, Albus? Not your usual 'follow my leader' type 'friend', is he?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry frowned.

"Means you got a mind o' your own..."

"Aberforth," the Headmaster sighed in a cautionary tone.

"Lay off, y'old codger," the man waved a dismissive hand, "'Fore you get your wand in a twist. An' while you're 'ere make yourself useful and go talk to her, she still wants to see you...don't know why. She won't talk though, so don't ask her to, she just wanted to see you..." he said reluctantly.

"I...can't," Dumbledore turned away.

"You say that every time and every time I have to explain why you won't even go look at her!"

"You know why."

"I do, she doesn't. You owe her enough to at least look at her," the man scowled.

"Aberforth, don't ask this of me, not now."

"Why not now?" Aberforth the bartender slammed his glass down onto the table and Harry tried to make himself shrink back into the shadows. "Every time I tell you and every time you say you will and you never do. Why not now?"

Harry got the feeling that this was a very private conversation, one that had played out many times and one that he wasn't invited into. It was a strange setup, this conversation. The usually confident Headmaster was acting almost like a nervous, guilty and petulant child while the bartender was the exasperated adult. Harry had never seen anything like it. He wondered why Dumbledore would bring them here if the bartender gave him this much grief every time.

"I can't tell you why," Dumbledore sighed.

"You never can," the man shook his head, "You're a coward, Albus, you never change. You may have everyone else fooled, especially those damn Ministry officials, but not me, I know what you are, and even if you are the next Minister you'll still be the same..."

"I don't know who you think you are but I..." Harry began unable to keep quiet any longer. He knew that Dumbledore made mistakes just like anyone else but surely he wasn't going to sit there and let this man insult him so viciously. He couldn't understand why the man hasn't said anything to defend himself.

"Ah, he speaks, wondered how long it'd take you," Aberforth threw back his head. "Another one of your friends defending your honour, aren't you proud, Albus?"

"Aberforth," Dumbledore said standing up slowly. "And Harry, please, it's ill advised to insult a bartender."

"But I...but he..." Harry said incredulously.

"Where you goin'?" Aberforth demanded as Dumbledore walked slowly across the room to a door.

"To have...a long overdue conversation; something I saw tonight reminded me I should," the Headmaster answered, "...Wish me luck?" he asked quietly.

"No," the bartender said quickly as Dumbledore opened the door. He stood still for a moment on hearing this answer but he let out a sad sigh and stepped through it.

As the door closed, Harry turned his attention back to the bartender and was about to speak but the man best him to it. "So, Harry, not 'boy'," he said, turning his attention to the young wizard, "What're you doin' here outta school term? Not followin' my brother on one of his crazy schemes are you?"

"Your brother?" Harry blinked.

"Yeah," Aberforth said, "Why? Is it so hard t'believe the great Albus Dumbledore's got a brother? Think he sprung up from the ground all ready to rule the magic world or something?"

"No, I just thought thought if someone had a brother they'd be a bit less rude to them to be honest," Harry replied in a matching tone.

"Huh, shows how much you know about him," Aberforth scoffed.

"I never asked anything about him," Harry replied.

"He wouldn't tell you even if you did, he's too ashamed."

"What's he got to be ashamed about?"

"Oh," the bartender exhaled, "You'd be surprised," he said.

* * *

In the gloom of Malfoy Manor, Narcissa stood staring out at the land from a ground floor window. In the dim light her pale face looked haggard and her eyes were almost manic; the remnants of months of concern for both her son and her husband. Sometimes she couldn't help but wonder if the ideals valued so highly by the Dark Lord and by Lucius were worth so much suffering.

"Draco, I didn't want this for you, you're still a child, but I can't change things," his mother told him sadly.

"I understand."

"Do you?" Narcissa sighed, "Do you have any idea why he gave this 'task' to you?"

"I was chosen..."

"This is punishment, punishment for what He sees as your father's failures. He doesn't expect you to succeed. Think about it for one minute, Draco, if the Dark Lord cannot defeat..."

"He could..." Draco sad quickly, "If he learns you said..."

"Severus was right, Dumbledore is strong; grown wizards would not envy you this, it is not a task for a child..."

"I'm not a child, I'm one of his, I am one of his trusted..."

"Draco," Narcissa cried, reaching for her sons' hands with her own, "You are my son, I don't want to lose you."

"I don't have a choice, I have to do this!"

"I know...I know...but not alone. I had Severus make an Unbreakable Vow...he can help you..."

"No one can help me! I have to do this alone, if I don't he'll..."

"But if you fail you'll both be..."

"I won't fail!" Draco ground out, "I can't fail."

* * *

"Where is he anyway? Has he got lost?" Harry asked after a brief conversation went quiet. He'd quickly learned that a conversation with Aberforth wasn't an easy thing to keep up. The mans' answers were practically monosyllabic and he wasn't very forthcoming when Harry had asked about what Dumbledore would have to be ashamed of.

"Hope he's talkin' to her," the man relied simply, "He better be..."

"Who?" the young wizard asked, watching as Aberforth poured more of the Spiritus into their glasses

"To her."

"Who 'her'?"

"...Our sister," Aberforth said finally.

"You have a sister too? And she's here?"

"In a way."

"I'm not following," Harry shook his head.

"Her portrait...'s in the back."

"...Oh...then...she's...erm..."

"Dead," Aberforth nodded, "Dead as a...dead...dead person," he closed his eyes sadly, "...For a long time now."

"I...I'm sorry."

"Why're you sorry?" the man muttered gruffly, "Not your fault my brother's an idiot."

"Why'd you keep doing that?" Harry asked soberly.

"What?"

"Insulting your brother."

"He deserves every one of 'em. He's over a hundred years old and you don't know half of what he's done...huh...and you're probably better off not knowin'."

"Everyone's got secrets," Harry shrugged and took a sip of his drink which burned his throat again.

"Him more than most."

"Why are you so bitter?"

"Y'know..." Aberforth began taking a deep breath, "When we were boys everything was always about Albus; our father never let us forget that he'd started doing magic when other kids was learning the colours. People'd say I was jealous but I wasn't," he said.

Harry couldn't help but raise and eyebrow at this and the man continued, "No one ever believed me, you probably don't either, but I wasn't and I'm still not. I didn't really care much for magic, still don't. If it'd have been left to me I'd have dropped outta schoolin' and never looked back."

"I don't..."

"It all went to his head!" Aberforth emphasised, "All that stuff he could do, all the spells he came up with, all the fame and glory...and then he'd come home and suddenly we weren't good enough for him."

Harry couldn't understand why Aberforth was all of a sudden being so forthcoming with this information. It certainly didn't paint Dumbledore in a good light and something told him that that was why he was telling him. When he had been younger and overwhelmed by the plethora of new information from a world he didn't understand, he'd rudely thought that the greatest wizard alive could do no wrong. But he'd been a child then. He knew now that people made mistakes no matter how great or how old they were, but he still respected the Headmaster. He still trusted Dumbledore.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asked.

"You wanted to know."

"But it still sounds like you're...jealous," Harry said, "I'm sorry, it does."

"What if I told you our sister was...a difficult child to look after and we were left as her guardians when both our parents were gone. You think someone like my brother, with his big ambitions, wanted to stay and look after us? No, he wanted out right from the start."

"This was years ago, you can't still be so angry."

"Can't I?" Aberforth scoffed, "If you knew everything you wouldn't be sayin' that. You still trust him, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry answered.

"Even though he does nothin' but make mistakes. Y'know what his search for power got him? He's ever the one to pay for his mistakes, other people do because they trust him so damn much. When he makes mistakes, people die."

"...I know..." Harry sighed, "But it's not like he can help it. People make mistakes."

"Ah, so speaks the voice of experience, hmm," Aberforth hummed. "You're a fool, Harry Potter, and one day you'll look around just like I did and see that because of him, you're all alone."

"I don't know why he said we should come here if he knew that all you'd do is..." Harry said.

"Tell you the truth? Maybe that's what he wanted. Whatever it was that you did tonight, wherever it was you went to it made him talk to her again. You have any idea how long it's been since he did that?" Aberforth asked. "...So, where did you go?"

"...I don't think I can't tell you."

"No," he raised an eyebrow, "You best be careful you don't end up like him."

"I think I've heard enough," Harry remarked, standing up. His chair squeaked against the floorboards as he moved at the same time as the door at the other end of the room opened quietly.

"Harry?" the Headmaster spoke, stepping through into the main room.

"What'd you say to her?" Aberforth demanded of his brother before Harry could speak.

"The truth," Dumbledore said.

"Hmm," the bartender muttered in disbelief and stood to walk over to the door, "We'll see about that," he added before going through into the back room.

The Headmaster walked across he room, over to Harry and appraised him with piercing blue eyes. "Judging by the look on your face, you and my brother don't see eye to eye."

"Yeah, he's...erm..." Harry frowned, not wanting to finish his sentence.

"He has reason to be," Dumbledore admitted, "Believe me."

"Why'd you come here if he's always so...rude?"

"He is my brother, Harry, and I've wronged him in so many ways; some things are unforgivable."

"But you're family...family should be..." Harry pursed his lip, wondering just what a family should be. After all, he'd never really known about families until he'd met the Weasleys, but surely, it was better to try and keep ones family close...Unless that family was the Durselys.

"Perhaps one day you'll find out just what happened to make him the way he is."

"He said...well...it doesn't matter," Harry shook his head.

"You say that now and I'm grateful, but you'll think much less of me once you know all," Dumbledore said, making his way to the bar. He deposited a considerable pile of galleons and sickles on the bar and turned back around. "Come, I think we've imposed on my already much tried brother for long enough."

Harry wondered just what a person could that was so unforgivable to ones own brother, but he wasn't going to find out today. So, he took up his cloak and with a barely concealed yawn they walked back out into the quiet streets of Hogsmeade.


End file.
